Fetish
by ListenNatalie
Summary: AU Mark and Roger pay rent by doing some work. MR, MarkOC, MROC.
1. Fetish

**Pairings:** MR, MarkOC, MarkRogerOC...don't be offended. 

**Disclaimer: **I don't own RENT.

**A/N:** Mark is a tad OOC...I made him an ass because he has plenty of reasons for being one. He's taken for granted a lot. Plus, asshole Mark just gets my juices flowin'.

* * *

"Roger, I hate you." Mark frowned as he looked in the mirror. He had never seen something this hideous since that time Aunt Francis made him wear that stupid jumper with the dreidel on it for Hanukkah. Even at five years old he understood the word ugly, but now it was beyond that.

"Oh, it's not that bad. Quit whining." Roger adjusted his bunny ears and tie.

"Easy for you to say," Mark grumbled, trying to stretch the lavender spandex as far as it could possibly go over his chest. "Roger, has it ever occurred to you that this is the most degrading thing a male could ever do?"

"Listen," Roger turned around, pointing his finger at the filmmaker, "_this_ is paying our rent. Plus, I think it will help you get in touch with your sexuality."

"I am in touch with my sexuality!" Mark stomped his foot and the bunny ears fell off, "I like girls!"

"But girls aren't sure about your sexuality, Mark Cohen. You kissed me the other day and confused that girl at the Life."

"I kissed you on the head and it was solely because you were able to find that piece for my camera!" Mark whispered harshly, "It wasn't because I wanted to screw you."

"There's nothing wrong with being curious, Mark. I love women, but I experiment…sometimes."

"Roger," Mark huffed, "I really don't want to hear about this. You're sounding like my mother, but in a perverted sort of way." The blonde pulled down his top and took a deep breath. "This isn't a gay club, is it?"

"No," Roger sighed, "it's fetish."

"What the fu –" But Mark was being pulled out of his hole-in-wall dressing room and into a dark hallway. The smell of booze and neon lights and sweat filled the area and Mark tried to pull away. He didn't want to be a fetish. He wanted to go home and take a hot bath.

"Here." He was given a serving tray and directed toward the bar. The club was dark, with the exception of a few strobe lights and strategically placed black lights, and he was just getting used to his glasses.

"You okay?" Roger shouted above all the noise and Mark gave a firm nod…if he had to be stuck here, he was going to be better than Roger. He was going to be the sexiest bunny he could be, even if it meant flirting with some men. The first table he went to consisted of a circle of older businessmen, who took an obvious interest in him. He was skinny and pale, easily submissive and they lapped it up. One man gently touched his thigh and Mark flinched.

"What? You don't like older men?" The rest of the table chuckled and Mark grit his teeth.

"Honey, you just aren't my type." Did he just say _honey_? Mark couldn't believe his mouth. He left quickly to go pick up another order at the bar. He stumbled over to a separate table which was flanked by young women.

"Wait," one called as he turned around, "aren't you the guy that kissed that other guy in the coffee shop?"

If Mark had ever blushed before, it was mediocre compared to the blushing he did now. It was that same girl from the coffee shop, the one who had witnessed the friendly exchange between Mark and Roger. "Um, it wasn't exactly a kiss…"

"No, I mean…" She shook her head, trying to think, "your friend just brought us some drinks and…"

Mark waited for her to continue. Her friends were silently laughing and she frowned at them all, displeased at their reaction. "And, um, never mind."

"Enjoy." Mark turned away fast. He wanted to cry…or break something. Preferably Roger's neck. He returned to the bar and loaded his tray.

"Wait!" The girl approached him at the bar, flushed and out of breath, "Listen, that was stupid…"

"No, it's okay," Mark cut her off and pushed back his bunny ears, "just leave me alone." Before she could protest, he left. He had never been like that to a person, especially of the opposite sex. Girls were mean. No, they were heartless. He continued his serving, only to gain two phone numbers and a bruising pinch on his ass. Roger seemed to be doing much better; dollar bills were draped in his shorts and he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Who's Debbie?" Roger picked up the napkin that had smudged lipstick on it with a frantically scribbled down number that was smeared by Mark's nervous sweat.

"Oh, I don't know." Mark peeled off the purple skin that clung to his torso. Roger tossed the number in the trashed and pulled on his jeans.

"So," Roger whistled, "how was it?"

"I'd rather starve to death and gut myself so I can eat myself than do that again," Mark sighed, removing his shorts and glancing at the developing spot on his right buttock. The bruise was flowering into a brilliant purple and Mark whimpered.

"That made no sense at all."

"Probably because you enjoy things like letting strangers fondle your crotch and have eye-sex with you."

"Yeah," Roger scoffed, grabbing his jacket and exiting the dressing room.

**

* * *

**

"One." He held up a solitary finger and the host at the Life seated him to a single table in the middle of the café. He set the ratty bag on the chair across from him and pulled out a pen. He had told April he'd do her taxes on the promise that she'd clear up his bill at the bar she worked at; trying to pick up girls never really played to his luck and all he had left over was a tab full of cosmopolitans and cocktails.

"Bunny boy." He looked up. The waitress was the same girl who'd embarrassed him at the fetish place last night – he could barely sit down this morning because of the dreadful place.

"Oh, hi."

"Now I guess _I'm_ serving _you_ drinks, right? Minus the thong and fishnets."

"It wasn't a _thong_ and I don't wear tights," Mark mumbled and she rolled her eyes.

"Whatever," she sighed, "what would you like?"

"A tea, lemon, sugar."

"Anything else?" she grinned, "a carrot perhaps?"

Mark flared his nostrils, upset. "What's your problem? Yes, I was there and yes, I was dressed up, but I didn't make any mention that you're some fat waitress over at the Boho coffee shop for queers and artists."

"Go fuck yourself." She ripped off the ticket and tossed it on the table, leaving him to rethink. Asshole Mark Cohen. Did he really mean it? She wasn't exactly _fat_ but not thin by any standards and wasn't _he_ an artist?

He stood. She was behind the bar, keying in an order on the register and he slowly leaned against the edge.

"I didn't really mean that." _Yes I did, but I'm just trying to wipe that awful frown off your face. I'm not really an ass all the time, just when my roommate manages to grab me by the nuts and make me go to fetish clubs like that one._

She cocked an eyebrow and went back to flipping through the orders.

"I don't really have a sense of humor today." _Actually, it's not any better when I do have one…it's almost non-existent. _

"Listen," she whispered, "all I wanted to say was I'm sorry about the whole thing last night. I said it wrong and whatever, I'm sorry, you make a great bunny. There." She pulled the lever on the register and shoved the receipts in the drawer.

"Do I still get a tea?"

She laughed. "I've already spit in it."

"Oh." He backed up from the bar, "Then you better make it a coffee. Tea just doesn't sound as appetizing."

"What were you doing at that club anyways?" she poured him a coffee and walked back to his table.

"Oh, paying rent."

"You pay rent by letting people handle your genitals while you serve shooters?"

He sat down. "Um, that was my first time."

"That other guy was really good. Hot, too. Is he gay?"

Mark sighed, "The jury's still out on that one."

"Are you gay?"

"Oh no, I'm completely interested in women." He nodded. "I like vaginas."

She stifled a laugh and smiled, "Well, that's nice. Have a good one."

"The check?"

She shrugged, "It's on me."

_I like vaginas?_ Mark was sure that would be a low point in the book of his life.


	2. Doctor

**Pairings:** (now) sexual tension/implied/actual MR, MarkOC, RogerOC, MarkRogOC.

**A/N:** I wanted a love triangle and massive confusion! I promise it's going to get raunchy soon.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own RENT.

* * *

He went back to that damn place.

Roger dragged him again. Tonight they were doctors; Roger opted for the headband with the metal circle on it, while Mark preferred something normal – a stethoscope. It hung low, bumping his secured crotch while he wove in and out of the crowd. His white coat had the name Dr. Wellhung stitched on the breast and a few pens peeking out of the pocket. He had opted for glasses tonight, because it made him look – dare he say it – sexier.

"Hey there." A few men had brushed their fingers gently past his lower stomach, thigh, any place he'd allow them. They pushed a few dollar bills into the waistband of his pants and he ventured to wink at them, sashaying back to the bar. He grabbed a small order, two gin and tonics, and walked over to a corner table. He stopped.

"You're here?"

It was the waitress. She smiled, nodding. "Someone said you'd be here again tonight."

"Oh." He set down the two drinks and didn't move. "Are you here with someone?"

"A friend," she replied, "but could you take a break for a minute? That drink's for you."

Mark swallowed and sat down, setting his serving tray beside him. He picked up the glass and drained it quickly, exhausted. He looked at her.

She wasn't really fat, but her face was full and she had a dimple on her right cheek. Her mouth was kind of lop-sided but her lips were nice, all framed by a head of golden brown hair and darker eyes; Mark really couldn't tell what color they were in the pulsating light.

"How much are you making tonight?" she asked, tracing the bottom of her glass with her finger.

"A lot, as a matter of fact…" he extracted the bills and she raised her brows.

"Congratulations."

"Thanks."

She looked around. "Where's your friend?"

Mark touched his glass again, "Who knows?"

She looked back at him and her eyes darted to his jacket. "So, are you?"

"What?"

"Dr. Wellhung?"

"Oh," Mark laughed, "um, I guess."

"That's what every man says."

"Well, I'm Wellhung tonight."

She laughed at his joke and he chuckled lightly. It was a good joke. Maybe he _did_ have a sense of humor.

"I'm Estella." She held out her hand and he took it.

"Mark. Mark Cohen."

A young man approached the table and slid in next to Estella.

"Is this the guy?" the man asked, pointing to Mark and Estella turned her head.

"No," she replied slowly, "this is just the waiter. He brought me two rounds." She pushed the empty glasses to Mark, who stood and placed them on his tray. She took out a few bills and scooted over to him.

"Thanks." Her hand gently brushed the stethoscope, fingertips pressing hard on his genitals as she inserted the money. Mark smiled lightly and hurried away. Awkward. Completely and utterly awkward.

But a definite turn-on. Wait until Roger heard!

* * *

"She touched your dick?" Roger dipped his spoon deep into the vat of cookie dough and emerged with a monster ball sitting on the end of his spoon. He licked it like a lollipop, eyes darting from Mark to the spoon.

"Her hand just sort of…brushed up against it."

"And?"

"And I think she _might_ be interested."

Roger sat up. "You said she was with a guy who got all defensive right? Is the boyfriend alert not registering in your stupid head?"

"But why would she do that to me?"

"Um," Roger feigned thinking, "maybe because she's a tease. Mark, you're too gullible."

"I know." His head drooped. Leave it to Roger to be the killjoy.

* * *

The Life smelled like beer. Freshly brewed, steaming as it came out of the boiler and into the refrigerator.

Yeah, that's how he liked his alcohol – cold, still fizzy, smooth. The smell was enough to move him to sit down in the exact spot Mark had taken and raise his hand for a waitress.

She was cute, overweight, skin flushed as she made her way over to Roger's outstretched hand. She smelled like fresh bread and beer and she took out her pad of paper.

"Hi." Roger flashed a toothy grin and she smiled, jotting down the time and her name on the pad.

"Hello. What can I do you for?"

"A beer. Biggest one you've got."

"Anything else?"

"No." He grinned again and she took a deep breath, taking his menu and tucking it under her arm. She flounced away and Roger lifted his chin in accomplishment. He wasn't really fond of women – in a completely bisexual way, he reasoned – but it would be fun. April was in and out of his life, only when he needed a good fuck or a nice fix.

She brought around his drink and he gently leaned into her.

"I know you."

She cocked an eyebrow. "I know you, too."

"What was with the boyfriend last night?"

"He's not my boyfriend. Just a date."

Roger rolled his eyes in disbelief.

"No, really," she laughed, "we went on a few dates and I lost him last night."

"Okay, okay," Roger held up his palms, "I believe you."

"Do you need anything else?"

"Your number." _He sets up, flicks his wrist, ball flies in the air…_

"My number?" _Looks a little wide…_

"Yes." _Sweat drops down onto the wood…_

"Okay…" _Swoosh. He shoots, he scores._

She clicked her pen, jotted down a number and gave it to him. "I hope you're not a pervert."

Roger laughed. Pervert, no. Dirty…yes.

* * *

"Roger..."

He was pushing her into the back, hands up her shirt, fondling what she pushed into his chest. His nails raked against the sensitive skin and she arched her back, knocking over a few Styrofoam cups and she laughed against his ear. He kept kissing, biting, licking until she propped her legs up and he was able to position himself. It went quick and she swallowed, letting out a deep breath as he buttoned his pants up.

"Listen, I have to get back to work," she swept her hair back into a ponytail and adjusted the apron.

"Okay."

She looked at him for a minute then brushed past him, leaving the back room and returning to the kitchen. Roger grinned, ran a hand through his hair and exited out the rear entrance, zipping his jacket and rounding the corner.

* * *

"Roger, I want to go back to that fetish club." Mark had his hand gripping Roger's collar, nose to nose. Roger would have been turned on if Mark's breath didn't smell like scotch and if his skin wasn't so papery and white you could see every vein in his forehead.

"Why?"

"Because I told her I'd be there."

Roger's heart began to race a little faster. "You went to Life today?"

"Yeah," Mark released Roger's coat and stepped back, "and I told her I'd be there! So take me out tonight."

"What did she say?"

"Does it matter?" Mark was gathering his coat and wallet, brushing the chip crumbs off and taking a sniff of the fabric.

"No, I just think it's…" _Think Roger…_ "_cute_ that you have a little crush on her."

"Don't call me cute, Roger."

Roger grinned and pulled on his leather jacket. They weren't asked any questions as they entered in the staff door, Roger given a policeman's uniform while Mark became a firefighter.

Roger watched Mark all night. She was there, hair in curls and eyes gleaming every time Mark would come around, his red helmet sitting back and exposing his blonde hair. Roger turned back to the bar. For the first time in his life, a girl was using _him_ as a sex game. Just hours before he had been screwing her in the back room of the Life and now she was fawning over his sexually mistrusting and confused roommate. He grabbed the next drink order and sulked to the table.


End file.
